


While You Were Waking

by misura



Category: Dublin Murder Squad Series - Tana French
Genre: Bedside Vigils, F/M, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Pining, Unresolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24018949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: "Sorry they dragged you in here to hold my hand."Antoinette scoffed. "Nobody dragged me anywhere. They called, I came. You'd have done the same for me, right?"
Relationships: Antoinette Conway/Fleas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 3
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	While You Were Waking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/gifts).



Opening up his eyes to find Antoinette Conway sitting slumped by his bedside, Fleas knew he'd screwed up good.

And sure, the whole 'regaining consciousness in a hospital' bit had already been somewhat of what the professionals called 'a clue', but there was screwing up and screwing up, and this? This was some epic screwing up.

It'd probably be five years, minimum before she'd ever call or e-mail him again after this. If ever.

 _Fuck._ Fleas wondered what deity he'd pissed off to deserve something like this. As if it wasn't bad enough that a six-month operation had gone down the drain for reasons he still didn't know, now he also had to deal with -

"Hey," Antoinette said. She sounded nothing like her usual self. More bad signs, as if Fleas had needed them. If he didn't know her better, he might suspect that she'd been crying.

His first instinct was to run all out damage control. Pretend nothing was wrong, nothing unusual going here, we do this all the time, don't we? Maybe next time, it'll be you, getting the shite kicked out of you by some crim, and it'll be me doing the bedside vigil.

(He'd be happy to do it, waterworks and all, happy to believe it'd make a difference to her even when he knew deep down that it didn't, that Antoinette had never needed anyone else in her life and that she sure wasn't going to start now, or ever, not for him and not for anyone else, either.)

"Sorry," he said. The hell of it was: he remembered the exact moment when he'd broken. Not during; he'd been too busy dodging the blows then, trying to make sure they didn't hit anything vital - bruises would heal, but there were a couple of organs that didn't take too well to getting punched and he'd known help was coming, so it'd just been a matter of hanging in there, trying to think who else might need to get pulled out, or who might need picking up fast, before they slipped away.

He'd still been hurting pretty bad for a while. They'd given him something for that, being kind-hearted souls, and him one of the good guys after all, and, well, apparently those things messed with your head, put your guard down good.

Just his luck he had such great co-workers, willing to go the extra distance. Like a sop, he'd asked for Antoinette, and like great Ds, they'd tracked her down for him, last request of a not actually dying man.

He wondered how long it'd taken them to comb through his contacts and personal history and find Antoinette. He'd been real careful - one e-mail address, that was all, under a fake name.

"Sorry for what?" Antoinette asked. Getting annoyed, unless there was something wrong with his hearing.

"Sorry they dragged you in here to hold my hand."

Antoinette scoffed. "Nobody dragged me anywhere. They called, I came. You'd have done the same for me, right?"

_Yes, but you wouldn't have said my name. And if you had, I doubt anyone would have been able to track me down, assuming they'd have bothered trying in the first place._

"They got me on some stuff. Made me go a bit loopy."

Great, now she looked annoyed _and_ offended, and maybe a bit hurt, though that was probably his imagination. Being a good undercover required you to have a bit of that, but too much of it and you started seeing shit that wasn't there.

"But thanks for coming," Fleas said. "I mean that from the bottom of my heart. Opening my eyes and having the first thing I see being you - "

Antoinette grimaced.

Fleas grinned. It hurt, which made him wonder what his face looked like. "Come on. Like I'd go that sappy on you. Give me a little credit. Even drugged to the gills, I've still got some sense."

"Not fair, you know, pulling that sort of shite when you know damn well I can't punch you."

"Ha! I'll let you in on a secret: fair? Doesn't exist. I mean, look at me. You think I deserved to get this way? I did everything right, I was careful, and what did it get me? Nothing. A beating."

Antoinette seemed to relax a bit, which was good. Fleas didn't allow himself to hope they were going to be all right after this, but maybe they weren't going to be the sort of broken that couldn't be fixed.

"Nothing permanent though, right? A couple of weeks, months, maybe, and you'll be good as new."

"Absolutely." That was what they'd told Fleas, anyway, and he didn't see why they'd lie. "So you see, no need to keep you away from some big murder in."

Antoinette shrugged. Word was, she didn't fit in too good with the rest of Murder, which had led Fleas to fantasize about dropping some hints along the lines of hey, remember that time we worked an Undercover op together - fun, right? Want to do some more of that, and maybe make it official this time?

He hadn't actually done it, of course. Too pushy. If Antoinette wanted to switch teams, she'd switch. Simple as that.

"So. Anything I can get you?" Antoinette asked.

"Nah." Fleas started shaking his head, then decided not to risk it.

"You want me to stick around, now that you're awake?"

 _Yes._ She probably would, him being injured and all, but a smart guy needed to look long-term.

"We could play catch-up for a bit. I mean, I'm not going anywhere," Fleas said. "Unless you need to be somewhere? Understandable if you did, but if you wanted to stick for a bit, I wouldn't mind. You're good company."

"Hah," Antoinette said.

Fleas waited. You worked Undercover, you knew how to be patient, give people time. There was another side to that, of course, or maybe that was just him.

If Antoinette didn't talk to him again for five, ten years, it wouldn't change how he felt about her. Why should it? Five, ten years from now, she'd still be Antoinette and he'd still be him. Simple.

"Don't really feel like talking my head off, sorry," Antoinette said, which was fair enough. "You? I don't mind listening, if you want to."

Undercover Ds had the best stories: everyone knew that. And it would be lovely to see her smile, maybe even startle a laugh out of her, though he'd have to be sneaky to get that one.

"Sure. You want to get yourself a cup of coffee first, maybe? Make sure you don't nod off in the middle and bruise my fragile pride?"

"Why not? You sure you don't want anything?"

Fleas shook his head (a mistake, all right) and she left.

 _She's coming back,_ he told himself. He still felt a faint sense of - not panic, that would be silly, but loss, maybe, a sense of inevitability. Sure, he might talk a good game, get her to forget how she'd come to be here, but she'd go home eventually, with plenty of time to think about what it all meant.

And then - well. Nothing he could do about it now other than wait and see, he supposed.


End file.
